


The Poltergeist

by Bittodeath



Series: I KILLED SIRIUS BLACK [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Comfort, Crying, Family Feels, Family Reunions, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hugs, Poltergeists, Post-Canon, The Marauder's Map, lots and lots of crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 14:44:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16097795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittodeath/pseuds/Bittodeath
Summary: A name appears on the Marauders' Map - or rather, re-appears.





	The Poltergeist

It was November 1997, and the new school year had started a month ago already. They hadn’t thought it would be possible – so close to the Battle of Hogwarts – and yet the castle was as good as new, welcoming students back. With a peculiarity this year: the former seventh year had been welcome to come back and study in good conditions for their NEWTs, which had obviously been cancelled.

Not many had been able to take on the offer, and even less had been willing too. It had been a right administrative hassle for some, but – it was worth it, that was what they all thought. The Eighth Years, as they were called, roomed together in the right gallery tower. It wasn’t a welcome change for Harry, Ron, Seamus, Dean and Neville – nor was it for Draco, Blaise and Gregory. The girls seemed to fare somewhat better, though Pansy was having a hard time. Hermione, with Hannah, the Patil twins and Susan Bones had reached some sort of truce, and the two Hufflepuffs were trying hard to include Pansy.

Still, there were tensions – from unsaid things, cruel behaviours, grief and memories. It was November only, and it was a miracle Draco and Harry didn’t hex each other more than they did. There was too much history between them for peace to be easily reached, too much resentment.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning, and the sun was shining into the dorms, highlighting the dust twirling in its rays. Harry was watching it – no longer sleeping, not when the nightmares woke him up so early. They’d all taken to cast Silencio’s around their beds before sleeping – it was simply easier this way. He rose up on his elbows when his eyes caught something silver blue and lightly shining, but it was gone as soon as it had appeared. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he reached for his wand, pulled the Marauders’ Map from under his pillow and opened it quietly. His heart hammered at the name floating just outside the room, and he flung himself out of bed.

Staring at the map, he ran out – and slammed straight into Draco who was coming back from the bathroom, sending them both sprawling to the ground.

“Sorry”, Harry said hastily as he shot back up to his feet and raced downstairs, following the footsteps on the map.  
“What the _fuck_ , Potter?” the blond snapped – it wasn’t even seven yet, why was the fool running like he had Voldemort after him?

But he caught the haunted look on his face, the feverishly hopeful gaze and stopped from screaming more. It wouldn’t do anything. Instead, he set out to follow him. Curious. Curious, and worried. Potter running through Hogwarts like this was, from experience, _never_ a good thing. He tightened his dressing gown around himself to shield from the cold, and trotted after him. Distant enough not to be too obvious, but Potter was too engrossed in the parchment he was holding to notice him.

They went through stairs and corridors and Draco’s heart started to hammer as they got closer to _that_ place. He broke out into a cold sweat, wondering how Harry could dare to go so close… _Bloody Gryffindor_. Well, it shouldn’t have been surprising from the boy who had defeated the Dark lord, but still. The seventh corridor was not a place Draco wanted to come back to. He stopped dead in his tracks when he finally saw why Harry had been running like this.

In the middle of the corridor, silver blue and smiling, floated Fred Weasley. He looked surprisingly fine, for someone dead. Harry fell to his knees, silent tears rolling down his cheeks, and Draco felt quite close to do the same. Fred started to laugh, though it didn’t sound very genuine.

“What, Harry, still using the Map?”

Harry didn’t seem to be able to answer, and Fred looked away – right through Draco, pinning him into place. His smile didn’t falter as he came closer, looming over Draco, who tried to berate himself. He hadn’t been scared of him when he was alive, there was no reason to fear him dead. Fred only stared at him, flicking in and out of sight, before vanishing completely. Slowly, Draco slid down, unable to keep on standing. He felt nauseous and sad – and yet not knowing why. He hadn’t liked the Weasley twin. Barely even knew him. So why did he care? Why had his gaze seemed to see through him, down to his soul?

“What are the two of you doing here?” a voice said from behind them, startling them.

They flinched and turned, gazing up at McGonagall – who was clad in her robes already and staring at them with a dubious expression. But as they turned, she caught sight of the tears staining their cheeks.

“Up you go, boys”, she said softly, grabbing Draco’s elbows and helping him up before doing the same with Harry.

They weren’t too steady on their feet.

“Do you need to go to the infirmary?” she asked, slightly worried now.

Draco shook his head, a knot of something lodged in his throat.

“Fred…”, Harry said, his voice hoarse with tears – sounding broken, way too broken.  
“What? What do you mean?” the Headmistress said, trying to decipher what in Merlin’s name was happening here.  
“He… I saw…”  
“A ghost”, Draco supplied, looking up at the Headmistress. “Fred Weasley just appeared as a ghost.”

She blanched, looking at them back and forth and only meeting certainty. The two boys were agreeing on something that she couldn’t dismiss.

“Come with me”, she finally said, and they followed to her office, where they sat down in comfy chairs as an elf brought two steaming hot chocolates.

It was strangely grounding and comforting, and Draco felt the knot in his throat loosen as he sipped the burning liquid. Potter’s hands were trembling around his mug, but for once, he couldn’t laugh about that. There was no laughing about this – about his obvious grief. There was no laughing when he didn’t know why he’d felt this affected by the ghost’s apparition. Thinking back about it, it should have been obvious there would be ghosts after the Battle. He shivered, hoping his aunt wouldn’t be one of them.

His mug crashed to the floor when Weasley suddenly appeared between his and Harry’s chair, smiling and waving.

“Sorry to intrude”, he said. “I’m still getting the hang of it.”

McGonagall looked like she was about to faint, her knuckles-white grip on the edge of her desk making Draco fear she might have a heart attack.

“Mr. Weasley”, she finally said, her voice wavering.  
“Fred”, Harry said, putting his mug down and rushing to hug him – and going right through him, as one would expect with a ghost.  
“Give me a second”, Fred said – and suddenly he looked more solid, though still silvery-grey. “Here”, he said, pulling Potter to him and hugging him tightly.  
“How-” the Headmistress said, rising from her seat.

Ghosts were intangible, it was public knowledge, and here Fred was hugging Harry, who was sobbing wretchedly into his shoulder. Fred shot her a glance, and she sat back. For now, he was focused on his friend. When Harry finally calmed down enough, he sat back and Fred stepped forward.

“I’ve taken Peeve’s place as Hogwarts’ poltergeist”, he announced, smiling widely, and putting a hand over his heart, he added: “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

McGonagall fainted.

*

“I can’t explain”, Harry said somewhat excitedly, “you wouldn’t believe me! You must come!”  
“Harry”, Ron drawled, “it’s seven and a half on a Sunday morning. I’m not going anywhere until at least nine.”  
“Ickle Ronniekins”, a voice he knew all too well chirped from beside his bed – and in an instant, Ron was sitting up, his eyes wide, his heart beating all too strong.  
“F-Fred?” he finally managed to say after a moment at the sight of his smiling brother.

It couldn’t be George, for the red-head facing him had both his ears. It had to be Fred – but Fred was dead, fallen five months ago. He knew it all to much. And yet… the young man nodded.

“Himself, brother”, he replied softly, sitting beside him and wounding an arm around his shoulders.

Ron’s fingers gripped his back tightly, scrunching the fabric between his fingers, his eyes desperately dry as he tried to comprehend what was happening. Fred was there. He was holding him. Had he finally gone mad? Taken a bludger to the head? Had he died? It all seemed to real, and too unbelievable.

“You’re here”, he finally managed to breathe, and if he cried he was none the wiser.

Fred said nothing, focusing to stay tangible and visible. He was new to Peeves’ power, and hadn’t been born like him, from teenage mischief – but he embodied it just as well. It was a matter of time before he was able to be as able a poltergeist as Peeves had been.

The news weren’t long to spread through the castle, the joyful, red-haired poltergeist surprising students, giving frights to teachers and resuming his occupation of annoying Filch as much as possible. He was unruly as ever – even more so, perhaps, now that he didn’t have the constraint of a solely physical body. Ginny cried until she felt like there was not a tear left in her body, and then she cried some more, promising her brother to help him in whatever mischief he had in mind.

Letters were sent to his family, and before long the remaining Weasleys were at Hogwarts – Bill and Charlie, George, Percy, Molly and Arthur. Surprisingly, Percy was the first to hug his brother, whispering “I’m sorry” to him.

“You said a joke”, Fred replied. “You’re not completely hopeless yet, Percy.”

He was almost bodily shoved out of the way by a heaving George, who stared at his twin for a long moment in absolute silence.

“I’ll make sure you have a well-furnished stash of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes at your disposition”, he finally said, voice tight and full of emotion.

No one but Fred could read the words in his eyes – the silent “I love you”, the silent “I missed you”, the silent “How dared you”, the silence of a heart so full of joy it couldn’t express it satisfyingly. No one could read the twitch of his fingers as the intent to reach out and hug – to assert his presence, to relish in it. Fred could read it all, and more. He pulled his twin to him and pushed his head into his shoulder as George dissolved into wracked sobs, threatening him and insulting him and making no sense in his words – but Fred knew better. It was enough.

*

Molly cried when it was time to leave Hogwarts again – she cried and cried and cried, and no reassurance could make her stop. She could hug her son and dispense her motherly love on him still – love a child that had been lost, and for the first time in five month, she could breathe again. Fred was fine, and he would be for many years to come.

It was a fine winter day of November – and in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, amongst children laughs and cries, a red-haired poltergeist started to sing, and everyone sang with him:

Weasley is our King,  
Weasley is our King,  
He didn't let Death win  
Weasley is our King.

 

Weasley can become anything,  
He never let school be boring,  
That's why Hogwarts’ Houses all sing:  
Weasley is our King.


End file.
